


Of Freedom

by Tamari



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Decathlon, F/M, Forum: Goldenlake, Multi, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamari/pseuds/Tamari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lerant and Lianne, because a rose by any other name would have sharp thorns too. Written for Decathlon at Goldenlake.</p>
<p>Titles for series and fics taken from Maya Angelou's I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. A line of dialogue taken from Sophocles and Ayn Rand, respectively, and one paraphrased from Shakespeare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Singing of Things Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Singing of Things Unknown  
> Rating: PG  
> Event: 4x100 Relay (What if?)  
> Words: 400 (100 per section)  
> Summary: Sometimes, they have a happy ending, and sometimes they don't, but at least they have something.

Singing of Things Unknown.

I.

Lianne slips out the balcony doors and leans against the railing.

"Tough night?"

She spins.

"I'm fine. You?"

The snub-nosed man shrugs. "I've been better. Lerant of Eldorne." He bows.

She curtseys. "Lianne. It's a pleasure. I…I thought you were in the King's Own?" She eyes his plain tunic.

"How did you- it doesn't matter. I'm not. The Giantkiller can't take traitors into his army," he says bitterly.

"But you're not one, are you?" she says.

Lerant laughs sharply. "From a bad crow, a bad egg."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Do _you_ think my opinion matters?"

She is silent.

II.

"You don't have to do this," he says.

"Yes, I do." Her sapphire eyes are hard. "Don't expect to understand, Lerant. I have my duty, whatever you think of it."

Lerant stares.

She shakes her head. "And now you have nothing to say."

"Wait," he says desperately.

She smiles cynically. "I've waited long enough. Tortall is waiting, and Carthak is waiting, and it's time."

"You can't marry him, Lianne. I love you."

"Love has nothing to do with it," Lianne says, her voice harsh.

"If Kalasin was oldest-"

"But she's not." Lianne adjusts her veil, and he watches her leave.

III.

Once the queen is dead, it's acceptable, even expected, for the king to take another wife.

The unexpected part is when he picks a known traitor - Delia of Eldorne, to be exact. Liam, Jasson, and Vania leave court immediately, but Lianne and Roald are left to deal with the backlash.

The first child's birth drives even Lianne away from court, and Lianne is _Lianne_ , for Mithros' sake, a peacekeeper from birth.

Not to mention that it makes her relationship with Lerant of Eldorne _very_ uncomfortable, and explaining their family tree to the priests officiating the wedding is even more so.

IV.

What in the Eastern Lands possessed his parents to name him _Lian_?

Tribute to his grandmother or not, there was already a Liam in the family! Is confusion something Jonathan and Thayet enjoy?

Then he meets her.

"Lian."

He suddenly loves his name.

"Your parents would never approve," she says.

"I don't care."

"I do!"

"They're my parents, not yours," Lian says. "I'd love you even if you were a centaur, Lerna, so quit complaining."

Lerna grins. "That's a bit creepy, Your Highness."

They laugh. Maybe she is of Eldorne and he is of Conte, but what's in a name?


	2. Waiting on a Dawn-Bright Lawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lerant has trouble learning a new skill. Luckily (or not so luckily), he has Lianne to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Waiting on a Dawn-Bright Lawn  
> Rating: G  
> Event: Light-hearted Long Jump  
> Words: 368  
> Summary: (including warnings): Lerant has trouble learning a new skill. Luckily (or not so luckily), he has Lianne to help him.

Waiting on a Dawn-Bright Lawn

He tripped over his tangled legs and fell, slapping the ground like he'd been taught in training. He spit out a few blades of grass and looked up at the helplessly giggling girl.

"It's not funny," he said.

She covered her mouth with one hand and helped him up with the other. "I'm sorry," she said. "But it kind of is."

"How do you ladies do that all the time? Especially you! You must fall down sometimes," he said.

"It's one of the things they teach in the convent, Lerant. Not that I went there, but I had tutors instead."

"Well, teach me!" he said.

"You want me to teach you," she repeated, before collapsing in laughter again.

"You don't have to be so rude," Lerant said with a sniff. "I'll just ask Vania."

"Do it!"

He sighed. "You know I won't."

"Yep," she said cheerfully. "That's why I _will_ teach you after all."

"Fine," he said, "How do I do it?"

She stepped back and swept one of her long legs behind her, pointing her muddy slipper to the left.

He awkwardly copied the motion, watching his feet to make sure he didn't fall this time. "What now, Lianne?"

Lerant looked up to see her smile. That couldn't be good.

"All you do is sink to the floor."

"Sink?" he echoed.

Lianne demonstrated, holding her cotton dress off the ground and lowering until her knees were wide apart.

After a few tries, he finally succeeded in curtseying without landing on his backside. He looked at her and his mouth fell open.

She was laughing.

"What?" he said. "I did it right!"

"Y-you-" she said through her laughter, "I'm not an earl!"

Lerant thumped his palm into his face. "Still not right?"

"No," she said, calming down again. "But that's fine. You're a man, after all."

"Yeah," he agreed. It still stung to be defeated by something all convent girls could do.

Lianne obviously understood and patted his arm. "I like you this way," she said, in a much more frank voice than was her usual.

"Of course you do," he teased, shoving her shoulder.

"Well," she said with a snort, "I can curtsey and you can't!"

Lerant laughed.


	3. Seeing Through the Bars of Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When 20 years ago was a very different time, what will become of Lianne?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Seeing Through the Bars of Rage  
> Rating: PG  
> Event: AU Hammer Throw  
> Words: 506

Seeing Through the Bars of Rage

"Girl!"

Lianne wipes her sweaty black hair out of her face and kneels. "What does my lady require?" she murmurs.

"Draw a bath. Warm, and rose petal soap," the woman says, waving a hand dismissively before fingering the crown perched on her blonde hair.

Lianne nods, and leaves to the bathhouse to fill her buckets. When she dips a calloused finger into the water, she sighs.

Cold, again.

The servants, the slaves, the oppressed - they may be too afraid to rebel (Lianne included), but they are making their feelings clear. Lianne agrees with their sentiments, but she doesn't have time for things like this.

She glances around before placing her fingers on the rim of the bucket. After a brief muttered spell, the water warms and a faint rose fragrance rises.

She isn't supposed to be using her Gift, but Princess Josiane wouldn't see magic if it tore the very dress on her back to shreds. Even if she could, she likes Lianne enough to spare her from a death sentence (Lianne hopes).

Lianne hefts the buckets and shoulders open the door absentmindedly, wondering how her sisters are doing with Queen Delia-

A splash - a very unmanly shriek.

"Mithros," sputters the brunet young man, who she recognizes with a fresh wave of horror. "Was that really necessary?"

"I'm so sorry, Your Highness," she says, stuttering slightly and ducking her head as she grasps for the now empty buckets.

Her hands grab air and she looks back up to see the prince smiling slightly, sopping wet, and holding the buckets out to her.

"Thank you," Lianne says.

"It's no problem, Miss…." he raises an eyebrow at her.

"Lianne," she says, staring at the ground.

Even though she can only see his legs, it's obvious that he flinches. "Right," he says.

"I'm so sorry about-" She gestures at his soggy clothing without moving her head.

"Don't worry about it. I won't tell Aunt, if that's what you're worried about," he says, reaching to pull her face up so he can search her wide eyes.

Lianne tries desperately to control her trembling, but she can tell that he notices. "Your Highness, I can't ask you to defy the Queen."

"Pish-posh," he says, releasing her face as she suppresses a giggle. "She won't care. I'm 'iggle-Lerant-poo'."

She almost laughs but remembers her place just in time. He has no reservations, though, and guffaws.

She smiles nervously, looking around the deserted hall. If someone should see them…

Lerant claps her on the back. "You're a sweet girl, Lianne," he says. "I'll see you around." He bows to her- much, much lower than is proper for a prince to bow to a servant girl, if that should happen at all, and enters the bathhouse before she has time to curtsey in return.

She stares at the door where he left for about a candlemark, before remembering her mistress. With a squeak, she runs to refill her buckets.

Lianne dips her finger into the water again and smiles.

Somebody's looking out for her.


	4. Another Breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someday, they will look back on this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Another Breeze  
> Rating: G  
> Event: 110 Reverse Hurdles (can be read bottom-top or top-bottom)  
> Words: 110

Another Breeze

"I'm ready," she says. She looks him straight in the eyes and he is reminded that she is a Conté, and Contés do not break, only bend.

Lerant brushes a tearstain from her porcelain skin.

"If you're sure," he says, and pulls himself up.

"Let's go." She smooths her skirts before taking his hand with a tentative smile.

She stands, shaking only slightly, and settles her shoulders. Lianne breathes deeply in, the scent of wet earth mingling with traces of her own perfume.

"I'll take care of you," he says. "Just trust me. Everything will be okay. We have each other, don't we?"

Shadows of doubt fall over her face.


	5. Until The Current Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, staring at a fire doesn't seem to help Lerant solve his problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Until the Current Ends  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Event: Tasty Triple Jump  
> Words: 889

Until the Current Ends

The fire dances in front of Lerant, lifting its orange skirts and flitting around in the darkness.

He looks and looks to try and erase the images in his mind, but it's useless. He swallows and swallows to try and erase the lump in his throat, but it's useless. He concentrates and concentrates on the laughs of the company to try and erase the voices in his head, but it's useless.

He is useless.

It's all a misunderstanding. He had tried to explain, but Lianne was having none of it - she never took his excuses for anything, from being late to canceling dates, so he wouldn't expect her to listen now - except that he did.

She says, directly, that she is not surprised - this sort of thing happens a lot. He's shocked, because Lianne is sweet and beautiful (and rich and influential, the things that matter to men who aren't Lerant). But he's not _that_ shocked, because Vania is just as rich, just as influential, and definitely more beautiful, even though she's anything but sweet.

Lerant likes sweet, always has. He loves Lianne's laugh, her smile, her cute black bangs, and her penchant to helping everyone she knows.

That's why it was so easy, at first, to resist Vania, with those long lashes and red lips. Vania, whose every move, every word, screams sin.

Unfortunately, Vania didn't take well to being resisted, and that's how he found himself cornered in the stable. And before he could get out of it, explain to Vania that he's (not) really interested, a distressed Lianne found them.

Explanations were useless with her, just like they always have been. And _he_ is useless, just like always.

Two black-haired women dance past his eyes and through the fire, silhouetted against the light. One is beautiful, so is the other; one is as sweet as the other is sharp; one is right for him and one isn't.

It should be a simple decision, as easy as closing his eyes - but he closes his eyes and it's not getting any easier.

"Lerant!"

He looks up to see Dom, looking grim. "Yes?" he says uncertainly.

"There's someone to see you," Dom says.

Lerant shifts on the log bench and peers through the darkness, hearing Dom's footsteps crunch away toward the tents, followed by many other soldiers going to sleep for the night.

There's a thump beside him and he nearly falls off.

"It's me," the person says.

"Lianne?" he says.

"Yes."

"What're you doing here?" he asks, straining to see her expression in the dim glow from the fire.

"Vania confessed. She told me it was her fault," Lianne says. "I am sorry that I did not believe you." Her signet ring glitters in the firelight as she twists her hands.

Lerant's tempted to refuse her apology. Lianne doesn't sound like she's sorry at all, her tone level and her words as stiff and formal as the day they met.

She continues before he speaks. "I understand if you do not wish to forgive me. I should have trusted you, should have listened. We rode out as soon as Vania told me," she adds, wringing her hands more forcefully. "She's over with our horses. I hoped that you would understand."

He scoots closer to her, reaching out to take her hand before she chafes herself raw. "Lianne," he says, "Calm down."

She looks up at him, her face shaded. "Me?" Her short laugh would be called hysterical, if it wasn't Lianne. "I've got it all under control."

He raises an eyebrow, even though he doubts she can see it. "Do you?"

"Maybe," she says, with a shallow inhale. "I just want everything to be okay."

"I can't say that it will be," he says. "No one can say that."

She gives the short, frantic laugh again. "It's ridiculous, isn't it, to expect you to accept my excuses, when I never took them from you?"

Yes.

"No," Lerant says. "Everyone's a hypocrite. You just hide it better than most people. Why don't you bring Vania over, and you two can have something to eat. I'm sure you're starving."

Lianne leaves, and reappears with Vania a few minutes later.

"Hi," Vania says softly.

"Hello," Lerant says, a little stiffly. Vania and Lianne dish up leftover soup and the three of them watch the fire dance.

After the last few company members slip into their tents, Lerant turns back to Lianne. "I need to sleep," he says.

"Of course," she says, getting up. "We'll just ride back, then."

He shakes his head, then remembers they can barely see him. "It's dark," he says. "Too dangerous for you both. Come on." He lights a candle from the fire.

Lianne and Vania follow him.

"Here, Vania, you can stay with Squire Alan. I doubt he'll mind," Lerant says, avoiding her eyes.

Vania goes in without a word, and Lerant leads Lianne to his tent, ignoring her protesting whispers.

"Shh. It's fine," he says softly, holding the tent flap open for Lianne.

"Is it?" she says with an undertone to her words.

"Everything is going to be okay," he says. "I have an extra bedroll."

She smiles, her face flickering in the candlelight. "So you don't love Vania?"

So much for subtlety. He snuffs the candle and pulls Lianne closer.

"What do you think?"


	6. Clipped Wings and Tied Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lianne has a thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Clipped Wings and Tied Feet  
> Rating: PG  
> Event: Drama Discus  
> Words: 627

Clipped Wings and Tied Feet

"I don't think this is a good idea," Lerant says.

"Nonsense," she says with a wave of her manicured hand. "It would have to be done sometime, right?"

"No," he grumbles. Lianne flicks his ear and he sniffs.

"Just let me do the talking," she says. He rolls his eyes.

She flashes her signet ring to the unimpressed guard, who looks her over and finally nods.

"No weapons," the guard says gruffly, eyeing Lerant. He reluctantly gives up his dagger, as Lianne hands over her belt-knife.

"I still don't-" Lerant cuts himself off as the guard unlocks the imposing wooden and metal door and ushers them through.

"So."

Lianne shivers, the voice echoing like a nightmare. All thoughts of carrying the conversation flee. Lerant spares her a glance before looking at the back of the chair.

"Please turn around. I brought someone to see you," Lerant says.

The chair spins. Dark green eyes, surrounded by creases and set under arching brows, lock onto Lianne's face. And Delia smiles.

Lianne shudders again.

"Well, well, who do we have here?" she says, her smile stretching wider.

"It's me, Aunt," Lerant says. "I brought my…" He looks at Lianne again. "My betrothed."

"What's your name, girl?"

"Aunt," Lerant warns, but Lianne brushes his shoulder with her hand.

"I can handle this," she whispers, before raising her voice. "I'm Lianne."

"No manners," Delia says with a sniff. "Fief? Or are you a commoner? You definitely don't look like much."

Lerant growls.

"No, I am a noble," Lianne says. A crafty smile creeps onto her face.

"Are you enjoying this?" Lerant whispers to Lianne. She just keeps smiling.

"Are you?" Delia says. "The Book of Glass, I expect?" She drums her fingers on the arm of the chair.

"Book of Silver."

"Well, that's not bad, I suppose. You did better than I expected, Lerant, although of course it's not Gold-"

"Yes, yes," Lerant says, "if you don't mind, we are very busy planning the wedding."

"What are you talking about?" Lianne says, sounding confused. "Mother and Father said they would plan it all for us, or don't you remember?"

Lerant's escape plan is ruined. He glares at Delia and Lianne in turn, realizing to his horror that they are wearing a very similar expression of sly amusement.

"And who are your parents, again?" Delia says, tracing her own arm absently.

"I don't believe you know them," Lianne says. "Jonathan and Thayet of Conté?"

CRASH.

"WHAT?" Delia shrieks. She looks up, her mouth wide open, from her sprawl on the floor, and Lerant can suddenly see exactly what Lianne finds so amusing.

"Oh, so you do," Lianne says.

Delia shifts her gaze to Lerant as she stands. "I can't believe you've succeeded where I have failed! You truly are an Eldorne, so eager to climb in the world."

"That's not why we are marrying," Lianne says. "He loves me."

Delia's faded red lips twist in a sneer. "So it's love, hmm? I was in love once. Do you know where that got me, you naïve little princess?"

Lianne looks pointedly around the room, her gaze resting longest on the bars on the window. "Yes, it's quite obvious where that got you."

"And we'll be going now," Lerant says quickly as Delia's face reddens. He tugs at Lianne's arm.

"Of course," Delia says, her lips pressed together tightly and wrinkles showing heavily. "Thank you for visiting."

Lerant bows. He pulls Lianne out without waiting for either of the women to curtsey.

Lianne bursts into laughter as soon as they pass the guard, and he smacks himself in the face.

"See? It wasn't a good idea," he says.

Lianne grins. "You're right. It was an _excellent_ idea."


	7. The Distant Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's always been overlooked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Distant Hill  
> Rating: G  
> Event: Single Sentence Shotput  
> Words: 32

The Distant Hill

When the civil war begins, Lianne cries like the world will drown, and all Lerant can do is hold her and pray that someone will look after her while he's gone; no one does. 


	8. Stalking Down a Narrow Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time he sees her, he's stunned anew. Warning for implied attempted rape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Stalking Down a Narrow Cage  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Event: 400 word dash  
> Words: 400

Stalking Down a Narrow Cage

The first time Lerant sees her, she's hiding.

He's eighteen and smarting from being replaced by that girl, and he's just looking to get away.

Corus is bustling, so he slips back to the hayloft in the palace stables and settles on a pile of hay.

"Hello."

He cracks his head and sits up with a few colorful curses.

"Nice vocabulary," says the voice. He looks around and there - a young girl perched on a wooden board.

"What are you doing here?" Lerant says.

She laughs. "Manners. I'm Lianne. You?"

He scowls. He's been teased by the men for being replaced by a girl, now one is mocking him? "Lerant," he says grudgingly.

"Well, Lerant," Lianne says, flipping her black braid, "My brother was on a rampage, and he never looks here. But I must be going to supper anyway. Nice to meet you."

He relaxes back onto his hay.

-:-

The second time Lerant sees her, she's dancing.

It's been five years. He barely recognizes her in the slender woman twirling through the gardens, but he thinks he knows that braid.

"Hello?"

She falls with a shriek, and he rushes over to her. "Are you all right?"

She stands, groaning. "Fine… Do I know you?"

"Lerant," he says.

Her eyes widen. "Oh, I remember you!" She brushes off her dress.

"Yeah. That wasn't a good day for me," he says.

Lianne's laugh is deeper than the girlish one he remembers. "Me neither. It's wonderful to see you again, though."

"Don't worry. I'll leave you to your dancing."

As he leaves, he glances back to see her spin just one more time.

-:-

The third time Lerant sees her, she's struggling.

He lunges in reflexively and pulls the man off, punching him in the nose. The man drops.

"Lerant?" she says, gasping as Lerant shakes blood off his knuckles.

Staggering to her feet, Lianne throws herself at him. It's been so long he's forgotten her tendency to surprise him, but now he remembers.

She looks at the man moaning with pain. "Would you mind terribly escorting me back inside?"

Would he _mind?_ Is she being polite when she's just been assaulted? He offers his arm and she takes it without another glance back.

When they're at her rooms, Lianne hugs him. "Thank you again."

"Anytime," he says.

When she closes the door, he pretends he can't hear her wracking sobs.


	9. Daring to Claim the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lianne doesn't do anything traditionally. Why start now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Daring to Claim the Sky  
> Rating: PG  
> Event: 100 word dash  
> Words: 100  
> Last line of dialogue quoted from Ayn Rand.

Daring to Claim the Sky

She grabs his hand.

"Will you marry me?"

"Pardon?" he stammers.

She repeats the question. Lerant's sure he's dreaming, but his dreams never capture the strength in her gaze, the tautness of her neck, the heady scent of her almond perfume - the things that even he forgets until he sees her again.

"You want to marry me?" he says, licking his numb lips.

She stands and brushes dust off her knees. "Of course."

"Your family will never let you-"

"The question isn't who is going to let me," Lianne says, raising her eyebrows. "It's who is going to stop me."


	10. Standing on the Grave of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please don't go," she whispers, but the door swings shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Standing on the Grave of Dreams  
> Rating: PG  
> Event: 500 word dash  
> Words: 500

-:-

"I know it's hard to remember,  
The people we used to be..."  
-Maroon 5, Payphone

-:-

Lianne hates light.

It pools in the corners she hides in, warms the stone she lies on, reflects her face in the polished surfaces she glances in, and she can't look at herself right now.

She's been running and ducking and crawling through the palace (anything, anything to get away) all day, but she can't escape the light, and her shaking heeled boots are followed wherever she goes.

By the time she gives up, it's getting late and the light from the windows is leaving anyway. But there will be candles and mirrors and maids and maybe even Liam waiting in her room - he never misses a chance to bring her down, and this won't be any different.

She goes down to the empty mess hall, walking on her toes so her heels won't click on the tiled floor and ~~remind her of things she wants to forget~~ give her away.

The silence in the usually bustling hall makes Lianne shiver, and she crosses her arms tightly as she tucks herself between two tables. She lies back and stares at the ceiling (don't think, don't think).

She thinks.

-:-

Lerant hates tents.

They billow in the wind, looking for all Tortall like they could fly away, and he can't. They're anchored, in truth, just like him (but since when did the truth make a difference?).

Everyone from Lord Raoul to Dom is giving him strange glances, but he barely notices (breathe in, breathe out, don't stop). This is Lerant's job, his family, where he belongs, and he'll be damned if he lets this go too.

With the war newly over, there's plenty of work to be found for the Own, but it's drudge work- building and rebuilding and shoveling - and he doesn't have anything to distract him.

He takes a break from building a house for a refugee family and slouches against a wall still damp with mortar. His boots slide through the black, gritty mud of the north (not like the red clay of Eldorne, or the tan dirt of ~~Conté~~ Corus).

He misses home in the way that you miss an old friend who spilled your secrets, or a family member who stole from you - with faded love and faded anger, but sharp regret.

He doesn't miss Lianne at all (he doesn't, okay?).

He does.

-:-

"You're back," she says, her voice cool but her heart pounding.

Lerant walks past her without a word, without a glance. She immediately strikes up a conversation with Domitan of Masbolle and pretends that she was talking to him from the beginning.

She looks back at Lerant a few moments later, but he avoids her gaze.

"Good-bye," Lianne tells Domitan with a quick curtsey. She locks eyes with Lerant as she walks away (nothing in brown eyes, and nothing in sapphire).

As she slips behind a corner and out of their line of sight, she breaks into a run (anything, anything to get away).

The dying light of sunset follows her.


End file.
